


Misery Poker

by Kitty (Tamoline)



Category: Secret Circle (TV), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faye is so over the drama in Chance Harbor. So she's hitting the road, getting some space, walking into the bar and having a good time.</p><p>She's not the only one with that general idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Poker

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for season 2 of Vampire Diaries and season 1 of Secret Circle

I check my reflection in the mirror over the bar. Of course I’m looking good, just like always. A little tousled, but it works. Over my shoulder there’s a flash of lightning and, a few seconds later, thunder booms loud enough to rattle the bottles in their neat little rows.  
  
I’ve always loved storms. The wildness of them, the power, the chaos; it’s a rush.  
  
Now, though... Now, it just reminds me of what I’ve lost.  
  
No, too maudlin. I need another drink.  
  
The bar’s kinda jumping for a town in the ass end of nowhere, but then I guess there isn’t a whole lot else to do here but drink. Looking at the clientele, I’d guess that most of them are just passing through. Like me.  
  
I have to jostle a little to catch the bartender’s eye, but a couple of artfully undone buttons help me keep his attention long enough for me to get my drink. At least *this* is something I can do without a circle to hold my hand.  
  
It takes a moment or two for me to register that someone is talking to me.  
  
“I said, excuse me!”  
  
The speaker is a leggy blonde with flawless make-up and perfect hair, kind of like a barbie doll come to life. Well, apart from the angry scowl on her face. I don't know what this girl's problem is, but she sure has a panties in a twist about something.  
  
I flash a crooked grin and salute her with my glass. “You’re excused, Blondie.” I suppose I could have just asked what's gotten her so worked up, but where would be the fun in that? A girl’s got to get her kicks somehow.  
  
I’m half expecting her to splutter indignantly, but instead she narrows her eyes, fixing me with a surprisingly steely glare.  
  
“I think I was here before you.”  
  
I shrug. “And...?”  
  
“You cut in front of me!”  
  
“Oh. Well, I guess the bartender just didn’t see you there. That must suck.”  
  
For a moment she just stares at me, like she doesn’t know what to say.  
  
I often have that effect on people.  
  
But then... Then things take a distinct turn for the weird.  
  
Suddenly Barbie is right up in my grill. I swear I don’t even see her move, but she’s right there, eyeball to eyeball with me. And her eyes... They’re all... veiny. And the skin around them is twitching like there are worms crawling beneath it.  
  
I freeze.  
  
Time seems to slow to a crawl, moments lengthening to minutes, hours.  
  
Somewhere in the back of my brain, someone is screaming. Just one word, over and over again.  
  
Demon.  
  
But... it’s not a demon. I don't know how I know, but I do.  
  
She's *something* alright, but she's not a demon.  
  
(Thank God, she's not a demon.)  
  
And suddenly I can breathe again.  
  
“Just back off!” she growls. Almost literally growls, actually. There’s a definite rasp to her voice, like she's been smoking twenty packs a day since the day she was born. For a split second, I feel the walls closing in, and all I want to do is get the fuck out of there. But then it passes and all I am is Pissed. Off. Did this bitch just try to cast a spell on me?  
  
Before I can call her on it she adds, almost as an afterthought: “And give me that.” She snatches my hard-earned drink out of my hand, knocking half of it back in one go as her eyes go back to normal. “It’s morally mine anyway.” She starts to turn away like she’s already dismissed me in her mind; like she thinks this is over.  
  
Oh no you don’t, Bitch. It’s over when I say it’s over, and not a second before.  
  
I close in behind her, reaching to reclaim my drink as I whisper in her ear. “What kind of freak *are* you?”  
  
I’m braced for an attack, for anything, but instead she flinches like I’ve slapped her. And then she bursts into tears.  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
Did not see that one coming.  
  
I really hate it when they cry.  
  
I waver for a second but, really, there’s no chance in hell I’m just going to walk away. This is the most interesting thing to happen in at least a week.  
  
And, freak or not, she has a fabulous ass.  
  
“Fine.” I sigh dramatically. If there was ever a time for drama, it’s now. “You keep the drink. Sounds like you need it more than me.”  
  
“Thanks,” she mutters, wiping her eyes. I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted that she remembers her manners at a time like this. Jeez, it’s Diana all over again.  
  
But that’s a whole different mess.  
  
Plastering a big grin on my face, I link my arm with Blondie’s and steer her over to a booth. She’s too startled to resist, beyond a weak: “Hey, what are you...?”  
  
“Let’s get you sat down over here...” I more or less gently shove her at the seat and she sinks down on the worn leatherette as if her legs just won’t support her any more. Yeah, I’ve had days like that. “Now, I’m going to get another drink. Or, maybe two or three. And then you're going to tell me all about it.”  
  
  
Part of me is a little surprised to find her still sitting there when I come back over with a tray of drinks. Only a small part, though: I knew I’d pegged her right. She’s touched up her make-up a little: back to being a perfect little barbie doll, even down to the perfect, plastic smile.  
  
Suddenly, briefly, I wish I had slapped her. So I settle for the next best thing.  
  
“So,” I say, conversationally, as I slide into the booth. “What kind of freak are you?”  
  
She doesn’t flinch this time. I’ll give her that. Instead, she looks me directly in the eyes.  
  
“I’m not a freak,” she says, her voice quiet and controlled. If it wasn’t for the way her expression goes ever-so-slightly fixed when she says it, I might even think that she believes it.  
  
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I shrug. “So, what’s with the eye thing? And what was that mojo you tried to use on me?” I take a sip. “More importantly, how can *I* learn to do that?”  
  
What can I say? I have to be me. And that would *so* freak Little-Miss-Perfect right the *fuck* out.  
  
Blondie looks away. “You don’t want to know,” she almost-whispers. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”  
  
What, does she think I'm a complete mundane? I'm actually kind of offended.  
  
“Hey, I know stuff. I’ve been around. Is it dark magic? A vodoun ritual? A pact with a demon? Dead witch possession? You can tell me, Barbie.”  
  
“Caroline,” she says, tightly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“My name is Caroline.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Caroline. I’m Faye. So, now that we’ve bonded and all, you going to answer my question?”  
  
“Maybe.” Now she sits up straight, studying me closely. In contrast, I sprawl back on my seat, sipping at my drink. Since she’s scrutinising me, I return the favour. Except I’m not nearly so clinical about it. I let my gaze linger appreciatively -- she is kinda cute -- and she flushes a little.  
  
I’d say that counts as a win.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“You have to tell me something first.”  
  
“No fair! I asked before you.” I pout sweetly, but she isn’t having any of it. “Fine, then.” See, I can be gracious. “What do you want to know?”  
  
“What kind of freak are *you*?”  
  
I have to laugh. So, Barbie has some bitch in her after all. I think I like that.  
  
“Oh, I’m not a freak.” I lower my voice, making it sound all dark and spooky. “I’m a witch.”  
  
I don’t know what kind of reaction I was expecting, but a lightbulb moment wasn’t it.  
  
“Ohhh,” she breathes, looking strangely enlightened. “So *that’s* why the compulsion didn’t work.”  
  
“You... know about witches?” I try not to sound deflated. I was kinda hoping for a little less ‘oh, that’s perfectly normal’ and a little more ‘wow, that’s so cool’, though.  
  
But... Compulsion, you say? Colour me interested.  
  
“One of my best friends is a witch,” she proclaims brightly. Her expression wavers a little as she adds: “Well, she used to be my best friend,” but then that hundred-watt smile is back in place again.  
  
I’m not completely made of ice-bitch, and I totally know how much it sucks to lose a BFF, so I cover her hand briefly and offer a smile of my own.  
  
But enough with the feelings. Back to business.  
  
“And you are...?” I twirl my hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.  
  
“I’m a...” She breaks off mid-sentence, looks around as if to make sure no one is eavesdropping, then leans toward me and lowers her voice. “I’m a vampire.”  
  
I blink.  
  
“Holy shit!” I whisper. “Vampires are real?”  
  
“Uh, yeah.” She looks at me like she’s half-expecting me to leap over the table and try to murder her in the face.  
  
I try to absorb the bombshell she's just dropped. It kinda changes my worldview a little.  
  
“So... do you sparkle?”  
  
She giggles. It’s a nice sound, and it suits her surprisingly well. “That was totally my first question back when I found out about them.”  
  
Huh, whaddaya known? Me and Barbie -- Vampire Barbie! -- have something in common. Except, I bet she's one of these chicks who thinks the whole 'watching you when you're sleeping' thing is romantic, and not creepy-stalkerish.  
  
But she hasn't answered my question.  
  
“Well? Do you?”  
  
“No, unfortunately. Sunlight is more burny-death than skip-the-body-glitter. Luckily, I’ve got a way around it.”  
  
“Which is what?”  
  
“Uh, kind of private. No offense, but I’ve only just met you. You could be a vampire hunter in disguise.”  
  
“In disguise as a hot chick, you mean?”  
  
“Yeah, I mean no, I mean- Dammit! Stop trying to confuse me.”  
  
“Whatever. You were totally checking me out.”  
  
“I was not!”  
  
I smirk. “You mean, you weren’t eyeing up these?” I let my hand drift down to my chest and, like a trained puppy, her gaze follows. “Busted,” I whisper.  
  
She jerks her eyes up again, blushing hotly.  
  
“I didn’t know vampires could blush,” I observe, interestedly.  
  
“We can if we’ve fed recently,” she says.  
  
“Oh? Does that mean you’ve been snacking on a barfly or two?”  
  
“No!” She sounds indignant. “I have... other arrangements.”  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“None of your damned business!”  
  
She really is good and rattled. Bonus! Yeah, while other (more boring) people might urge caution when prodding a self admitted blood drinker, I just think ‘Mission Accomplished’.  
  
I’ve still got it.  
  
“So, tell me about compulsion.”  
  
“It’s... I can control people’s minds. Well, I can tell them to do something and they’ll do it.”  
  
“Could you teach me?”  
  
“I don’t think so. Anyway, I wouldn’t. I don’t even know you!”  
  
“Can you turn into a bat?”  
  
“Eww! No.”  
  
“Fly?”  
  
“No. But I can run really, really fast.”  
  
“You got any other cool powers?”  
  
“I’m really strong. And I heal quickly.”  
  
“Cool.” Something occurs to me, and I eye her speculatively.  
  
“What?” She asks, sounding a little defensive.  
  
“Just trying to work out how old you are.”  
  
“I’m seventeen,” she says, sounding like she’s sure she should be offended by that, but isn’t quite sure why.  
  
“Is that, like, ‘I’ve been seventeen for a really long time,’ or...?”  
  
“No, it’s seventeen, like seventeen. Between sixteen and eighteen.”  
  
“Huh. Same age as me. Were you born a vampire, or were you turned?”  
  
It’s like a shutter comes down behind her eyes. Just like that, she’s cool, calm and collected again.  
  
“Turned. And I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Of course, that really, really makes me want to *ask* about it. But, for some reason, I don’t. Maybe I’m going soft.  
  
“Okay, fair enough. Want another drink?”  
  
She looks at the empty glasses in front of her. “Um, okay. Sure.”  
  
“Great! I think it’s your round. I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.” The look on her face is a picture. “*Thanks*, Caroline,” I trill sweetly.  
  
Caroline looks like she’s going to protest, but then she just shakes her head and sighs. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere.” And she shoots me that Look again. “I’ve got a whole heap of questions for you.”  
  
“Ooh, I can’t wait.”  
  
And, the funny thing is, I’m kind of looking forward to continuing this conversation.  
  
Caroline, Vampire Barbie, is... interesting.  
  
And, coming from me, that's a big damn compliment.  
  
  
"My mom's the town sheriff." Caroline pauses a moment, playing with the glass in her hand as her gaze turns distant. "She's practically married to the job these days. She probably hasn't even noticed that I've gone yet." In one quick motion, she takes the shot and slams the glass down on the table in the traditional manner, looking at me with a challenging spark in her eyes. "Your turn."  
  
"Hey, at least your mom gets to carry a gun. That's kinda cool. *My* mom's the school headmistress, and she isn't cool at all. She's probably going to ground me for a *year* when I get back." I do my own shot, and pour another row as the alcohol burns its way through me.  
  
I can't quite recall which of us suggested grabbing a pile of booze and heading to the motel so we could combine twenty questions with getting shitfaced, but this is kinda fun. That means it was probably my idea, 'cause I rock like that.  
  
I suddenly realise something shocking.  
  
"Hey, you're not drinking!" I wave a hand indignantly at the row of not-exactly-neatly refilled shot glasses. "You know the rules.”  
  
“I just need a minute, that’s all.”  
  
I grin broadly at her.  
  
“Not chickening out are you? I didn't realise that *vampires* could be *lightweights*."  
  
She scowls in my direction. “I’m not a lightweight, I’m just pacing myself. Anyway, I bet I can drink *you* under the table.”  
  
“Oh, really?”  
  
Boy, is she in for a surprise. Maybe she does have some kind of super alcohol tolerance lurking under that cheerleader-like exterior, but she's looking at least as buzzed as I am, all flushed and cute and stuff. I bet I can give her a run for her money.  
  
But I guess we'll just have to find out the hard way.  
  
"Prove it," I challenge, handing her another shot. She accepts it with an exaggerated sigh.  
  
"Fine, whatever. I don't have to prove anything to you, but if there was ever a time for drinking, I guess this is it." She takes a breath. (Huh. I guess vampires breathe as well as blush. Isn't that interesting?) "My mom and dad aren't together any more. My dad lives with his boyfriend, who has daughters of his own."  
  
Ha. I can beat that, easy.  
  
"My dad died in a fire when I was just a baby. A spell went wrong. It was tragic."  
  
Well, it was a bit more complicated than that, at least according to Cassie. And the demon. But Vampire Barbie doesn't need to know the whole story.  
  
Speaking of Blondie: is she actually tearing up? Her eyes are looking kinda shiny, but that could just be the booze. Now she's starting to say something. I quickly drink my drink.  
  
"I'm so sorry to hear that," she says softly. Shit, she actually sounds like she means it. I nearly jump out of my skin when she lays a hand on my arm, covering my twitch by turning aside to put the glass down. "It can't have been easy," she continues.  
  
I shrug. "It's not like I actually knew him or anything. It was a long time ago. Ancient history."  
  
Which is sort of true, even though the past won't stay buried, but I'm more upset about my gramps than my dad.  
  
But this is neither the time nor the place for thoughts like that.  
  
"Anyway," I continue smoothly, pointing at the table. "Next shot. Stop trying to weasel out of it."  
  
"I wasn't!" Indignantly, she snatches up another glass and taps her fingers on the side thoughtfully. "Let me see... My boyfriend -- sorry, *ex-*boyfriend -- is completely hung up on one of my best friends. Oh, he *says* he isn’t; keeps trying to prove it. And maybe he even means it when he says he doesn’t think of her like that any more. But I know he does, deep down. How can he not? She’s freaking perfect!”  
  
That hits a little close to home, so I cover the sting by rolling my eyes. "Oh, big whoop."  
  
"I'm not done yet. Although I was maybe rambling a little, which I do sometimes, but never mind. Anyway, you gave me 'uncool mom'. You don't get to tell me mine isn’t good enough to qualify."  
  
Okay, I guess I can't really argue with that. Well, I could if I wanted to, but apparently I'm feeling generous.  
  
I shrug. "Fair enough. Carry on."  
  
"The worst part is, I knew that when I practically forced him into agreeing to be my boyfriend."  
  
Wait, does she mean that she...?  
  
"'Forced'? You mean-"  
  
Her eyes widen. "Oh, god no! I didn't *compel* him. What kind of psycho do you think I am?"  
  
It's probably a good thing for the fragile detente between us that she doesn't pause long enough for me to answer that.  
  
"No,” she continues. “I just meant I used my, uh, feminine wiles."  
  
"Banged his brains out 'till he couldn't think straight?"  
  
"No! I just meant... Oh, never mind. Anyway, back to my actual *point*, assuming that *someone* is going to stop interrupting me..."  
  
I look innocent. She looks suspicious. That's... probably sensible of her.  
  
"Matt's crush on Elena isn't even the reason we broke up." Oh, right, Elena. She’s mentioned her before. Sounds like Elena is Caroline’s Cassie. I hate the bitch already. Meanwhile, oblivious to what’s going on in my head, Caroline is staring into her drink like she’s expecting to find some kind of holy wisdom at the bottom. "I deliberately acted like a world-class bitch to make him break up with me. And I did it because... Because I'm worried I might lose control and kill him!"  
  
She knocks back the shot, slamming the glass down so hard that I'm surprised it doesn't crack.  
  
I don't quite know what to say to her confession, but that never stopped me before.  
  
"Yeah, that does suck alright. But at least you got to walk away clean. *My* former boytoy turned out to be a witch hunter who came back to town to kill me and all my friends. Except, of course, he changed his mind when he got creepy-obsessed with the new witch in town. So now he's a 'reformed' character, and he hangs around all the damn time, saying all he wants to do is help. And guess who’s at the top of his list for a booty call when his crush gives him the brush off...”  
  
Friends with benefits? Yeah, if we were anything resembling friends. If he didn’t make me feel like... If he were anything other than a giant man slut.  
  
Great. Jake the Snake can harsh my buzz when he isn’t even in the same part of the country as me.  
  
Whatever. Speaking of drunkenness...  
  
I savour the feel of the alcohol burning through my body, trying to ignore the way the room seems to be wavering in and out of focus.  
  
I sneak a sidelong glance at Caroline to see if she noticed my temporary distraction, but her attention seems to be focused inward right now.  
  
“He sounds like Damon,” she murmurs softly. I think the words are directed more at herself than at me, but I pounce on them anyway.  
  
“Who’s Damon?” I enquire brightly. “Another asshole ex-boyfriend?”  
  
“No, well, yeah. Kind of. In a way. A supremely messed up kind of way. Like, seriously twisted.”  
  
“So, tell me. No, wait. Out of booze error.” I quickly line up and refill the shot glasses, handing one to Caroline. “*Now* spill.”  
  
“I don’t think...” She’s going to refuse, I can tell, but then she stops mid-sentence, visibly changing her mind. “Oh, what the hell. Why not? I’m only young forever!” She knocks back the drink she’s holding and then, before I can protest that she’s doing it wrong, switches the empty for a full. “I am *definitely* going to need two drinks for this.”  
  
“Okaaaaaay...” I draw the word out to give myself a moment to think. Should I change the subject? But she seems to have made up her mind and, well, now I *really* want to know.  
  
“So, Damon is Stefan’s brother. You remember I told you about Stefan? Elena’s vampire boyfriend?” I nod. It’s cute that she thinks I might have forgotten. I may be buzzed, but I’m not *drunk*. “Well, Damon is also a vampire. He’s also the bad brother; the one who does all the things that Stefan doesn’t. Well, not any more. Like drink human blood.”  
  
Caroline looks at me like she’s expecting something, but I don’t know what it is. I raise my eyebrows.  
  
“Yeah, got it. Stefan’s square, Damon’s cool.”  
  
“No, he’s not cool, he’s... Oooh!” She clenches a fist in frustration. “I’m not explaining this very well. Let me start at the beginning.”  
  
“Generally a good place to start,” I agree. “Much better than starting in the middle, or at the end. Unless whatever-it-is is boring as hell.”  
  
That earns me a Look. I smile sweetly in response.  
  
“*Anyway*. Stefan and Damon showed up at around the same time. Stefan was already drooling over Elena, but Damon was unattached. So I kinda went after him. And got him.”  
  
“Well, go you.”  
  
“Except Damon didn’t want a girlfriend, or even just a friend with benefits. He wanted a chew toy.”  
  
“Sounds... kinky.”  
  
Now she looks directly at me, and my next snarky comment dies unspoken at the utter bleakness in her eyes.  
  
“He scared me,” she says softly. “Fed on me. Hurt me. Then he messed with my mind, so I either forgot what he’d said and done, or just couldn’t tell anyone about it. And in the end, when he got tired of me -- when he decided that I was more trouble than he wanted in his life -- he tried to kill me.”  
  
Her voice is calm and controlled. She could be talking about the weather or something. I’m actually impressed by her composure, and it takes a lot to impress me.  
  
“Sounds like a son of a bitch,” I say.  
  
Her lips twist in a lopsided smile. “Oh, yeah. But he’s reformed now, don’t you know. So Elena keeps on telling us. And it’s kind of ironic -- he ended up saving my life in the end. Well, not really saving it, but, you know. I’m still walking around.”  
  
I blink. “He’s the one who turned you?”  
  
“Yes and no. It’s complicated. Damon gave me some of his blood -- it doesn’t really matter why -- and Elena’s psychotic double found out about it. She decided killing me would be a convenient way to send a message to Damon and Stefan. Nothing to do with me, of course.”  
  
I thought about asking for some kind of explanation -- killing to send a message? blood? psychotic doubles? -- but instead what came out of my mouth was: “Fuck. So even your death was incidental?”  
  
She takes another drink instead of answering. “Of course, when Damon found out I’d been turned, he decided I needed to be killed permanently. Because I wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I can. So he can shove it up his ass!”  
And on that defiant note, she knocks back a third drink and *smiles* at me. With *dimples*.  
  
All of a sudden, I can feel every one of those shots. And all the drinks I’d had in the bar beforehand. This is making my head spin. Vampire Barbie has the most complicated life.  
  
Unlife.  
  
Whatever!  
  
I sigh loudly. “Okay,” I say, resting my head on one hand. “Let’s try this again...”  
  
When she’s finally finished the story of her life (the abridged version), I am staring at her in what I’m not ashamed to admit is open amazement. That was something else.  
  
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “You know what? You win. And by win, I mean lose. Your life *sucks*.”  
  
For a moment or two she just stares at me in shock and I wonder if she’s going to burst into tears again. Instead, she does something even more surprising: she laughs. Head back, mouth open, whole body shaking with mirth. It’s actually pretty infectious. A few moments of listening to it and I’m joining in.  
  
Feels good, actually.  
  
As long as I don’t look beneath the surface.  
  
Caroline finally subsides, dabbing at her eyes as she looks up at me and smiles.  
  
“I knew I should have picked ‘dare’, she says.”  
  
“What?” I frown. “We weren’t playing truth or dare, we were playing misery poker. With booze.”  
  
“Oh.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking, and then she gives a small sigh. “Well, I think I’m done with the misery poker for tonight.”  
  
Does this mean she’s leaving? Bizarrely, I feel a small pang of... something. Probably just the alcohol. I’m not going to miss her: she’s just some vampire chick I met in a bar.  
  
Belatedly, I realise she’s still speaking.  
  
“But I don’t think I’m done drinking. Or talking.” A small smile this time, sidelights rather than full-beam, but still every bit as genuine. “Want to stick around a little longer?”  
  
I pretend to think about it, mugging an expression of careful consideration.  
  
“Well, I’d have to blow off the orgy in 3A,” I say slowly, “but what the hell? Sure, I’ll stick around.” I match her smile with a twisted one of my own. “Anyway, don’t we have a bet to settle? Something about who can drink who under the table...?”  
  
Her eyes brighten and she reaches for the bottle. “You are so on. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got some catching up to do...”  
  
Oh, yeah. This is going to be *fun*. Stupid, perhaps. Dangerous, even. But fun.  
  
Besides: what’s the worst that can happen?  
  
  
Oh. Ow. Goddamn son of a *bitch*.  
  
Ow.  
  
It feels like someone’s drilling for oil in my head. And maybe whoever it is has a few jackhammers going as well. And a big ass marching band.  
  
In other words, my head fucking *hurts*.  
  
Water. I need water. And painkillers. Boatloads of painkillers. Or maybe just a new head. I *have* to deal with this hangover before I see Caroline, so I can mock her suffering. Assuming she is suffering. Do vampires even get hangovers?  
  
Moving slowly (and keeping my eyes tightly shut against the evil light), I start to roll over, only to freeze when I brush against something that feels disturbingly like another person in the bed with me. I force my eyes open a crack. There is another person in the bed with me.  
  
Shit!  
  
Without meaning to, I’m suddenly sitting bolt upright, my eyes wide-open and staring at a sleeping Caroline. There’s a a brief eternity of quiet ‘ow, fucks’ as my throbbing head protests at the sudden movement, and then I’m back to the shocked staring.  
  
Why is Caroline in bed with me? Or, why am I in bed with *Caroline*?  
  
She isn’t naked and -- quickly glancing down at myself -- neither am I. We’re both wearing frilly pastel nightgowns. They must be hers, because I sure as shit don’t own anything like this. So, I guess this is her room as well. Actually, that sort of makes sense. I vaguely remember a discussion about whose room we were going to get shitfaced in. She volunteered hers and I didn’t care one way or the other.  
  
So, okay, we obviously did end up getting drunk off our asses, and I crashed here. That’s obviously it.  
  
Fuck, I wish I could remember, but the time after we started the serious drinking is mostly just a blur.  
  
We couldn’t have had sex. No matter how drunk I was,  
  
I’m just not that kind of girl.  
  
Despite *certain* people’s thoughts to the contrary.  
  
Shit.  
  
I can’t handle this right now. Maybe if I just quietly get up...  
  
Oh fuck, she’s waking up!  
  
I compose myself as best as I can, propping myself up on one elbow and smothering the urge to wince at the sharp pain in my head. I even manage a sort-of smile.  
  
“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound bright and cheery.  
  
“Morning,” she returns, actually succeeding at sounding bright and cheery. Her smile is brighter than the sun, and twice as painful to see.  
  
I... I think we might have...  
  
I guess they’re right. I guess *Jake* was right after all.  
  
I really am just a worthless slut.  
  
And, suddenly, without any warning at all, the room blurs as tears fill my eyes and start to cascade down my cheeks. I turn away, but it’s too late. She’s seen.  
  
She sees me.  
  
“Hey,” she says, softly. I feel the mattress shift as she sits up, and then there are gentle arms around me. I want to pull away, to just get dressed and go, but my body betrays me, melting back against her. “What’s wrong?”  
  
I shake my head, try to force out a laugh but it comes out more like a sob. “Nothing,” I finally manage. “It’s just the light. Hangover’s a bitch.”  
  
I do pull away then, shrugging as I swing my legs gingerly over the side of the bed.  
  
“It doesn’t seem to be bothering you, though. You had at least as much as me to drink last night, so why are you so perky?”  
  
“I don’t get hangovers any more,” she says simply, but there’s a hint of a frown crease on he forehead, as if she’s not quite convinced by my answer to her question. “Being a vampire has got to be good for something, I suppose.”  
  
It doesn’t take much effort to muster up a more or less fake scowl. “Don’t take this wrong, Caroline, but I hate you.” But I smile to take the sting out, and she smiles back.  
  
“It’s not your fault you’re only human,” she teases.  
  
“Bitch, please. Who are you calling human? Hundred percent witch, here!”  
  
I actually make it all the way to my feet this time. The room does sway dizzily around me for a few seconds, but I manage not to sway with it.  
  
“So, why don’t you just magic away the hangover? There *has* to be a spell for that.”  
  
“Oh, I wish. Doesn’t work like that, though.” There probably is a spell for this, but it’s not going to help me. Not while I’m out here on my own. And speaking of being on my own... “Anyway, I suppose I’d better leave you to it. Wouldn’t want to be here when the little cartoon animals burst in to join you in your cheery morning song.”  
  
I start to search for my clothes, but she gets out of bed and puts a hand on my shoulder, gently turning me to look at her.  
  
Oh god. Why can’t she let me leave with my dignity intact? Well, what’s left of it.  
  
“Thanks,” she says softly. “It was nice to spend a night with someone who just sees me. This has been the first time in a long time that I’ve actually felt like a real person. So, yeah, thank you”  
  
That’s the last straw. My vision blurs again, and this time I can’t stop it.  
  
Because I still don’t feel real.  
  
I only dimly register Caroline leading me over to the bed, sitting me down and wrapping her arms around me. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask anything. All she does is make soothing noises and hold me as I cry.  
  
I don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually the tears slow to a trickle, and then stop completely. I scrub at my eyes with a hand, but I know it’s a lost cause. I am not one of those girls who can cry prettily. I bet my eyes are swollen and my nose makes rudolph’s look subdued.  
  
Oh, well. It’s a bit late to worry about making a good impression now.  
  
Weirdly, I actually feel a little... better? I don’t mean that everything’s kittens and rainbows, or that I’m going to suddenly break into song, but I feel a little lighter, maybe.  
  
Obviously, I mean apart from the weight of all those tears. Easiest weight-loss program ever: just meditate on the many ways in which you suck.  
  
“So, do you want to talk about it?”  
  
What, is she reading my mind now? Is that another vampire trick she conveniently forgot to mention?  
  
Rhubarb, rhubarb rhubarb.  
  
Nope, no WTF reaction. Guess not.  
  
Rather than give my first two gut reactions (‘No and hell no’), I actually make myself think about the question. Do I want to talk about it. I don’t know, maybe? Umm...  
  
“Not now,” I say.  
  
I expect her to push, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods once.  
  
“Maybe another time, then.”  
  
I blink. “Another time?”  
  
“Well, yeah.” And now her smile lights up her whole face, the motel room; hell, the whole damned morning. “After all, we never did figure out who won the bet.”


End file.
